A thought dropped by over the weekend … Well, actually, it walked up to the front door, used a fire axe to break in, then told me what it wanted. Fortunately, with a bit of succubish persuasion, it will wait its turn. The actual thought will eventually appear, but getting there will take a little getting to …
And Now the News…
“Be careful what you wish for … you might just get it.” –said by Tera usually when she is about to teach someone a lesson.
Every world has them. They may be called a multitude of different things in the multitude of different languages that exist in the universe, but they serve an important function within the societies they exist in. On one particular blue and green world that orbited a bright yellow star, the phenomenon was known as the press.
Some manifestations of the press are known to do good, revealing those that do harm, do wrong, and bringing them to the light in order to save the innocent from their darkness. Others couldn’t care less about the meaning of right or wrong, but instead focus on innuendo, making headlines, and, for the most part, caring only about sensationalizing what they learn … or making it up as they go along.
In one of the major cities on this world there stands a grey building—not the tallest, but one of the most imposing of them all; a blocky structure, with squared corners and rectangular windows. In this cold and foreboding place, one the largest, if not the most wise or most considerate or even most charitable organizations, sent out their words to the world and influenced many.
High up, far above the streets below, in a corner of the building, a woman stood looking out across the city. She was the Queen of her domain, that being the host of the highest-rated news program on this world.
She had worked hard to get where she was, stepping on, over, and sometimes through her challengers and opposition to get all that she wanted. While the world only saw the blonde ex-model who was the face of her network, smiling and looking pretty for the camera as needed, being the bearer of bad news, or good, as needed to be.
But all those with ambition continually look for their next conquest, the next step on their path to greatness. She was no different in this. She needed to find something more, something that would cause a tremor in society which, in time, she could use to move into a place of real power.
She looked across the gulf of the downtown core, her eyes focused upon a building that looked nothing like the one she ruled over. It was, she had to admit, almost sensual in its form: a silver spire of curves, echoes of something that tugged at her memories. But she couldn’t quite place why it seemed so familiar. Even the windows were curved, mirrored glass, that reflected the light falling upon the building and returned that light to those that lived around the place. It was said, though she never put much stock in it, that no shadow ever fell onto the streets below from what she saw as her silver nemesis.
Stealing a glance below, she noticed the shadow of her own building darkening the streets below her and thought nothing of it. Pressing her hands against the window, she tried to will the silver spire to give up its secrets to her. After a time she heard him walk into her office and, without turning to look at him, made her first mistake. “She’s hiding something. Has to be.”
He was silent, taking a chair on the other side of the desk from which she ruled before answering: “Are you kidding? You actually want to go and stir something up with her? Are you nuts?”
Tearing her eyes away from the target of her ire, the blonde turned that spite upon him: “She’s only a woman, trapped in her little world, doing whatever she wants to Rich.”
He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses back into place: “And what she wants to do is run a charity, help the needy, provide for …”
She cut him off: “She goes to dinners, to political events. She surrounds herself with the rich and famous. She’s using them for her own purposes.”
“How do you know, Paige?”
Stalking away from the window, she dropped into her leather chair, rolling it closer to her desk: “Because that’s what I would do in her place.”
He shook his head: “Not everyone is like you.”
Paige had an irritating habit of picking up a letter opener and rolling it between her fingers, which she did now, knowing full well that Rich hated her doing so: “Anyone with power gets corrupted. She’s hiding something, and we’re going to find out what it is.”
He shrugged: “It’s your funeral. I’m sure the staff will send flowers.”
She replied with a snort of derision, but then noticed that he was holding an envelope in his hands: “What’s that?”
Holding it with two fingers, he looked at it: “This? This is a letter addressed to you … from her.”
Paige was surprised enough that she dropped the letter opener and it clattered onto her glass top desk loudly, making Rich twitch slightly. “What?”
“I said, she sent you a letter—actually, a letter and someone that delivered it for her. The someone is waiting outside.”
“I suppose waiting for your answer.” He stood up, tossing the letter onto her desk and started to walk out. Pausing at the door he warned: “You are dealing with power here. I wish you’d reconsider.”
She had already grabbed the letter and was ripping it open: “She’s scared … only reason why she would send a letter. Give me five, then send the messenger in.”
Once Rich left, she pulled the letter out of the envelope.
It has come to my attention that you wish to insert yourself into my affairs, that you would like to find out all about me.
I know everything I need to know about you. I know your preferred course of action, what you have done in the past. Still, I am sure that, if you do not get your way, you will make up some kind of story to put my charities in a bad light and harm untold souls. I myself care not, but harming others? This is something that I cannot accept.
Therefore, of your own free will, if you accompany the bearer of this letter, she will bring you to me. You have this one opportunity to do so. If you refuse, there will not be another.
The choice is yours.
The signature at the bottom of the letter was a single letter written in a feminine hand, but there seemed to be a power in the two strokes that formed it.
Paige laughed as she spun around in her chair gleefully, believing that her notoriety had cowed her opponent into giving into her. Stopping her spin, she looked across to that silver building and waved the letter at it: “Oh, I accept, absolutely.”
A soft voice purred from across the room: “She expected you would.”
The words caught her off balance, and Paige turned around to see who had been tasked with bringing her the message. She expected some ordinary, unimpressive worker or paper pusher with no class wearing a three piece suit.
What she found, however, took her breath away.
Paige thought of herself as stunning. After all, all of the cosmetic surgery, makeup, and everything else she did to attract attention to herself was designed for one purpose: she needed to be the centre of attention wherever she was. At that moment, she realized that she was never going to see herself as that again.
Standing there, framed by the doorway, was a petite woman, her long blonde hair in a ponytail—which, Paige noticed, was swaying slowly behind her. Soft pink lips, sparkling blue eyes, the perfect skin tone combined to set off her features and bring them to the fore. She cut a figure in her emerald lace dress and heels, one that Paige could never hope to match. Her curves, while not so extreme as Paige’s, made her so much more beautiful than Paige could ever hope for. This woman, whoever she was, didn’t force her beauty out; it simply was there, as easy as breathing was to her.
Paige swallowed: “Who … are you?”
The woman smiled as she walked closer: “I am her Song. She asked that I come here and deliver her letter.”
Paige found her thoughts scrambled by the self-assuredness that Song had. It wasn’t forced, faked, or manufactured. There was something in her words, her poise, her walk, that stated, clearly, that she was one with herself and who and what she was. Paige found herself jealous of this, and found the edge in her voice again: “Well you did. I accept.”
Song walked around the side of her hostess’ desk, pausing a few short steps away. Paige noticed a red ribbon tied in a bow on Song’s right wrist and wondered why it was there.
Song’s voice drew Paige’s attention to those sparkling blue eyes: “Tell me, again, that you accept … with all your soul.”
Paige felt chastised—as if her acceptance wasn’t enough—but held her tongue when she saw how calmly Song waited, as if the next words she spoke were the most important in her life. She thought about how Song spoke of “Her,” the slight catch in her voice when she mentioned … “Her.” Something clicked in her mind and she whispered: “Who is she?”
Song smiled, shaking her head slightly: “She. You do not understand, but you will, in time.”
Paige could hear the capitalization, the reverence in the word, and for the first time felt frightened. She drew a breath, to call out for Rich, for help, but bit her lip. She had to go through with this. She needed this. Nothing would happen to her—she was too well known, everyone would see her leave with Song. It would be fine, wouldn’t it?
For the first time in ages, she prayed so as she answered: “I accept with all my soul.”
Song smiled: “Of course you do.”
Rich was filing some paperwork—there always was paperwork—when the two women walked out of the office. Miss Ponytail was walking with Paige, and holding her hand. He started to ask where they were going when Paige spoke, the pair not stopping as she did so: “I’m going to set up an interview. Back later.”
He nodded and watched the two walk towards the elevators, unconcerned about what was happening. It wasn’t the first time that Paige had gone off to see some big shot and get a time and place worked out. While he was mulling over why Paige’s voice sounded off, when the elevator sounded and the doors opened, he calmly watched them enter the elevator, turning back towards him. The doors closed and he returned to his work.
It wasn’t until later that he realized that something was odd with Paige’s eyes.
As the elevator descended, Paige stood silently, looking towards the mirrored doors. She saw, but thought nothing of it, that her eyes were completely white. She saw Song beside her, her lips close to her ear, whispering a song to her. Of course, Paige would listen. Song had explained that “She” wanted her to.
The thought made her wet and feeling Song’s fingertips brushing along her thigh just made her sink further and further into the Song …
… “Her” Song … Being “Her’s” … Needing “Her.”
A fleeting thought came to her and the shiver that passed through her as a result pushed her further into the bliss of “Her” Song …